


Withdrawal

by Saucery



Series: Hartwin Stories [2]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Acceptance, Age Difference, Angst, Boss/Employee Relationship, Character Death Fix, Cross-Generation Relationship, Denial of Feelings, Dom/sub Undertones, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Guns, Hand & Finger Kink, Hugs, Kissing, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Movie Spoilers, Pining, Post-Canon, Recovery, Romance, Shooting Range, Spies & Secret Agents, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3521381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy goes into withdrawal without Harry’s touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Withdrawal

**Author's Note:**

> In this ’verse, Harry survives and takes over the Kingsmen.

* * *

 

Eggsy had noticed Harry’s hands, right from the start—their steadiness as they handled knives and cocked guns, their broadness as they stroked the lapels of a new suit, their carefulness as they lifted JB, and most of all, their powerful grip around the back of Eggsy’s neck and around his wrists, that one time he’d held Eggsy down while Eggsy had arched and clawed, fighting the effects of a poison a KGB spy had injected him with.

Those hands had been so calming, then, twin anchors in the midst of a burning, roiling sea. Eggsy hadn’t been able to budge them, and Eggsy often relived that memory, when he was alone in bed and thinking about how safe Harry had made him feel, how even Eggsy’s helplessness had somehow been reassuring to him, because of the overwhelming sense that Harry would look after him, that Harry would be there for him until it was over.

Of course, now that Eggsy was Galahad and a freshly recovered Harry was Arthur, they had far less cause to—to have _contact_ , and—

It wasn’t like Eggsy was going into withdrawal, or anything. That would be ridiculous. He was self-sufficient. He was an independent agent, not a trainee. He didn’t yearn to be petted like a dog and told he was a good boy, although it sent a shiver through him to imagine Harry doing just that. It was, as Harry would say, wildly inappropriate. But when had Eggsy ever been particularly appropriate?

“How’s your recovery going?” Eggsy inquired, once the other virtual agents had flickered out of their chairs. The scar at Harry’s temple was completely healed, the bandage off at last, and as a result, he resembled the world’s most refined Viking—a veteran of battles honorably fought.

Harry, seated at the end of the table, focused on him with watchful eyes—eyes that narrowed like they saw everything. “How are _you_ , Eggsy?”

It was—well, it was nice to hear Harry calling him by his name, rather than calling him Galahad, like he had during the meeting. “What do you mean?” Eggsy fidgeted, his gaze flicking repeatedly to Harry’s gracefully folded hands on top of the table, despite his best efforts to concentrate on the vapid portraits on the walls.

“My responsibilities include keeping track of the psychological state of my agents.”

Eggsy couldn’t help a surge of bitter resentment. “Just another agent of yours, huh?”

“Eggsy.” Harry sounded so damned _patient_. “You’ve been outstanding in your mission performance, but your practice scores from the shooting range show an increasing number of misses. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, sure.” Eggsy tapped his shoes nervously. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“In yesterday’s sparring session, Roxy beat you four times out of five.”

“She always beats me.”

“But not by such a wide margin. At this rate, you’ll endanger yourself during assignments.” Harry’s concern galled as much as it comforted, because Eggsy didn’t want it if it was purely professional, if it was was so… impersonal. It was getting what he craved, without actually having it. Like a mirage in a desert.

Not that Eggsy’s life was a desert without Harry in it. That was… That was an exaggeration. And to make things worse, he’d disappointed Harry. He’d underperformed at his job, which was the sole reason he and Harry even spoke, nowadays. “Look, I’ll get myself back up to scratch. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—” For a moment, Harry’s “Arthur” mask slipped, and his brow darkened. Finally, he got up and said, “Come with me.”

“Where to?”

“The shooting range.”

“Am I that bad? That I require a refresher?”

“You certainly require a refresher,” Harry said, “but not in weaponry.”

What? Then what was the point of going to the range?

They passed a few agents on the way into the range, but after glancing at Harry’s expression, they sort of… evaporated, leaving the range empty. Eggsy was beginning to get worried. He hadn’t ever liked displeasing Harry—embarrassing as that admission was—but he hadn’t expected to honestly piss him _off_ , either.

And yet, some odd little part of him was glad to be getting Harry’s attention, at all. Fuck, he was pathetic.

“Pick your weapon.”

“Any weapon?”

“It is not the weapon that matters, but its wielder.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Were they back to the generic mentoring platitudes? Was that it? Manners maketh man, et cetera? “I’ll take the Glock. It’s my favorite.”

“Aim for the heart.”

“Gotcha.” Eggsy didn’t bother with the ear-muffs, and to his surprise, Harry didn’t remind him. As Eggsy took aim at the cutout, Harry stepped in close, his presence a palpable heat behind Eggsy, closer than Harry had been to him in weeks, and Eggsy gulped.

He missed the first shot.

And the second.

“I see,” Harry said. “You miss the heart because you cannot find your own.”

Eggsy blinked, too humiliated by his inexplicable incompetence to figure out what that Yoda-like statement meant.

But before he could answer, Harry’s fingers were wrapping around his wrist, and Eggsy jerked in shock, nearly dropping his gun. While its safety was off. Great, he was making novice mistakes.

“Balance your center, or your aim will falter.” Harry slid his grasp further up Eggsy’s forearm, slowly, so slowly, that Eggsy’s breath shuddered. Softly, Harry said: “Where is your center, Eggsy?”

 _You’re my center_ , Eggsy didn’t say. He closed his eyes, because suddenly, it hurt. It hurt like an old wound, that the only kind touch he’d ever had in a lifetime of being brutalized by his poor mother’s interminable series of boyfriends—the only touch he’d been _missing_ —had been taken away from him. Having it returned to him like this, in a gesture that was unlikely to reoccur, was like being taunted in the worst way possible.

But Harry didn’t let go. His lips brushed Eggsy’s ear. “What do you need, Eggsy? All you have to do is ask.”

Something within Eggsy crumbled, some inner cliff of despair, formed of lonely nights and soul-deep desolation. Eggsy flicked the gun’s safety on and let it fall with a clatter, sagging against Harry, his strings cut. “It isn’t fair,” he whispered. “It isn’t _fair_ , Harry. You went away. I thought you were gone, and then you came back, and you—you were _different_.”

Harry’s arms came up around him, and Eggsy turned, hiding his face in Harry’s neck, because he couldn’t be so transparent in front of Harry, so weak, so bereft. “Perhaps it is what you desire of me that is different,” Harry suggested quietly, and, god, he smelled so _good_ , the scent of him surrounding Eggsy, drowning him. “What is that proverb? You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone?”

“But I never had you anyway,” Eggsy mumbled into Harry’s collar, miserable.

“Didn’t you?” And Harry’s voice was as gentle as his mouth when he pressed it to Eggsy’s brow, when he tilted Eggsy’s chin up and kissed him, as reverently and lingeringly as if it meant something, as if _Eggsy_ meant something, and it was—

Eggsy shook, flushing stupidly and uncontrollably, clutching at Harry like Harry might disappear on him again, like Harry might vanish into the shadows that had haunted Eggsy’s mind for those endless, unbearable days when he’d believed Harry had died, Harry’s words echoing within him until he went mad with them.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry said, when Eggsy let him breathe, and Eggsy bit Harry’s jaw in a burst of anger.

“Liar,” he said. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Eggsy, I am no longer a field agent. The chances of my untimely demise have fallen considerably.”

“You’re the leader of the Kingsmen,” Eggsy said flatly. “The chances of your creative assassination have risen considerably.”

“That’s if my knights fail me,” Harry said. “And you won’t fail me, will you?”

Eggsy wanted to sob, like he hadn’t allowed himself to do when Harry was supposedly dead, but he kissed Harry instead, because Harry seemed to think it was acceptable for him to have that—to have Harry himself.

They kissed until Eggsy’s shaking subsided. He felt drugged, more found than lost, but still lost, nonetheless.

“Oh, my boy,” said Harry, when Eggsy refused to release him. “My sweet boy.”

One of Harry’s broad, warm hands cupped the back of Eggsy’s head, and Eggsy _ached_ , desperate to have those hands all over him, putting him back together, even though he hadn’t realized he’d shattered, until today.

“You are among my finest agents,” Harry said, “but you are so much more than that. Please tell me you understand.”

“Sadly, I don’t,” Eggsy said, his smile more of a tremble than a taunt. “Maybe you should teach me.”

Harry slid his thumb across to Eggsy’s swollen lower lip. “Maybe I will.”

 

* * *

**fin.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Like my writing? Want updates and sneak previews? Follow me on [Tumblr](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Withdrawl](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9115396) by [RsCreighton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/pseuds/RsCreighton)




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